Ten
by x.soaked-silly
Summary: Ten. She recalls everything. The happy things and the painful things. And even the ten deadly promises. The promises that ruined her.


Ten

_"One."_

One more year till you both were going to graduate. Together. You had made plans- big plans- and they all involved both you and him. Even though you were not the type to get ahead of yourself, he just made it so hard _not_ to. He painted beautiful pictures for you. You were going to graduate and be valedictorian and then you would make a hopefully nice little speech. After that, you would be done with Hollywood Arts and you would move out to New York with Beck right away, using funds from your parents. He would find a steady job and work hard and you would work on becoming a famous playwright and perhaps work on Broadway for an amount of time. You would put in a few years of this and the whole time Beck would be right beside you, supporting you, so that every time you came home from a long day at work, he would be there, making your hot black coffee and massaging your shoulders in your small, but cozy apartment while the sun shined through the curtains and basked you and him in its rays.

You decided you liked when he massaged you.

Then, when you reached your goal, you would move back out to California and pursue Beck's dream of being an actor. It would be your turn to support him and welcome him when he came home, tired from his day's work. You would hold him and make him tell you that he loved you, and then...then you would kiss him and he would kiss back. You would break apart and then lie on the couch right next to each other, almost on top of one another. He would put his arm around you and would nestle your head into the crook of his neck. Then he would say he loved you more.

And once both of your life's work were complete, you move out to New Jersey, your hometown, and live in a quaint house on the beach. You would hold hands and casually stroll down the beachside, kicking up sand and feeling the warmth of the sun on your back. He told you that you'd be able to hear the whispers in the wind, and the murmurs of the ocean when it was all quiet out. He said that you'd be on a private beach- your private beach- and when the moon came out accompanied by the stars, you and him would sit down on the sand bank and watch the specks of light fly across the sky. Watch the airplanes and helicopters pass over your head. Serenity was the word he used to describe the scene. Absolute bliss.

And the two of you would live the rest of your years together, hand in hand, away from the noise and bustle of the city that was so long ago put in your past. You would live in beautiful peace. Harmony. You would live with him. The person who had stuck by you through thick and through think. Your love.

_"Two."_

Two eyes. He had two rich, deep brown eyes that shone with admiration and practically glowed from glee. When he looked at you with those eyes, you felt like you were being enveloped. Enveloped in what, you weren't quite sure. It was like a mix of things. You would feel safe and sound, and you would feel happy and your cold skin would heat up, but also you felt intrigued. His eyes were so mysterious and you constantly found yourself wishing you knew why. It wasn't a bad thing- those eyes clouded with mystery- but sometimes it made you uncomfortable.

Still, when he gazed at you, you felt like you could run around the world and back. Traverse across time and space. They always made you feel a rush of empowerment, like he believed in you. Not many people have faith in you now in days and even the ones that did weren't like him. He put endless trust into you and it filled your stone cold, hate filled heart with happiness. Often times- maybe it was because of the look you were so infamous for- people didn't trust you. At least not fully.

But he did. And it made you feel good. Great. _Amazing_.

But sometimes he liked to manipulate you with those gorgeous eyes, like he knew that his stare would make even your toughest resolves fade into a weak, breakable twig. Especially when he pleaded with you. When his chocolate brown eyes flooded with sorrow or pain. Hurt. And you would stop whatever it was that you were doing and just _agree_ to his demands. His demands were never _bad_ though. Not like yours. On the contrary, it could make you feel good when he begged for you to be kind to someone, silently promising that it would make you feel better. Now sometimes he was wrong, but sometimes he was right and it felt _okay_ to "play nice" and do things for others. Even for a hardened _gank_ like you, doing something nice for others was, on the occasion, like opening a very special gift. The best part was, though, the rewarding look from Beck and his beautiful eyes.

At times, when you were in class, you would stop taking notes and just look up. Not at the board or the teacher, but just at Beck who was always sitting in the chair next to you, his brilliant eyes focused on the lesson. Sometimes they would waver though, like a rock was thrown into a pond, and you could tell he was losing his concentration. Maybe he felt your eyes on him. Then he would look over to you and smile the only way he could, run his hand through his hair, and just gaze at you, his eyes sparkling with youth.

It always made you smile right back at him, even if you weren't the cheesy, helpless romantic type. It's not like you could help it anyway.

Those _eyes_...

_"Three."_

Three wonderful years of history and chemistry. Three years you two have been together. That's a lot. That's longer than any previous boyfriend you've spent time with. But something was special about him that made you want to keep him around. Maybe it was because every year he promised would be greater than the last. Or maybe it was because you liked his hair. Or, maybe it was just because you loved him and he loved you.

Three years would be a lot to throw away. You can't remember a time- not even one- that you've kept a relationship with someone for three years. Not even friends or family. You constantly push your family away- it's not like your dad is trying hard to keep you in his life anyway- and you always end up never talking to your "friends" after a good amount of time has passed because you start to become annoyed by them. Everyone always annoys you, so you're continually distancing yourself from people. But not Beck. He's stayed, and you have no idea how. Even when you fight, he never annoys you. Not truly- not that you'd admit it, but still.

It would _hurt_ to end three years of giddiness and grins. Hurt like _hell_. Perhaps that's another reason why you don't want friends.

No, but you can't help but want Beck to be in your life. You want to grab him and tell him to stay and be loyal, like a dog. You want him to never leave you. Not after three years, five months, and two days. Secretly you keep count of all the time you've spent with Beck. Once again you baffle yourself as to the reason you do that, but the fact still remains that you do. And you wouldn't want to change that for the world. Wouldn't want to change all the memories- the good and the bad. Three years worth of life you don't want to exchange for anything.

Each minute you spent with Beck was a minute happily spent. Even when you were in a bad mood, you loved devoting your time to him. It wasn't always apparent, but you did, and you wished with all your heart- you would even wish on a shooting star- that he knew that. Sometimes you liked to believe that he did, but lately he acted like he wasn't aware which was silly, because if you had even a wisp of an idea that your time was being illy used, then you would have left a long time ago.

Wasting time is not something you do. Not something you will ever do.

So you don't regret the past three years. You don't regret it all, and when Cat's howl rings out- you faintly hear it- you roll your eyes, because you could never forget the number three. Not in a month, not in a year, or not even in a million years.

_"Four."_

Four lovely kisses and not the chocolate kind. One on your neck, one on your forehead, one on the top of your head, and one- and this one's your favorite- on your lips. When he kissed you in those places, you would feel wobbly. Not because you were so starstruck you couldn't see straight, but because you felt so loved that it was crushing you and it was to hard to stand any longer. Being loved was something foreign to you until three years ago. Until Beck sauntered into your life with those soft, gentle lips.

Beck loved to kiss you. Loved to make you go weak in the knees like some kind of pitiful girl. But for some reason, you didn't mind it, for once. Being vulnerable didn't matter to you when the cause was Beck's luscious lips. Surprisingly sweet yet passionate kisses. In fact, you wouldn't mind going the whole day with shaking legs if he would just kiss you all the time.

Occasionally you liked to fantasize and make believe at night that it wasn't Beck's kisses that made you fall to the floor with the weight of its strength, but some supernatural force that just happened to just always affect you when Beck pressed his lips to your frighteningly pale skin. But you weren't a little girl and you knew better. Besides, sometimes you scared yourself with your iciness and knowing that Beck could shatter that ice in your soul made you feel better. Made you feel more human and not like some strange outcast like you were when you smaller. Younger.

Many times you would beg for him to kiss you that wasn't noticeable to anyone but you and Beck. You would stand there, arms crossed dutifully over your chest, blue eyes imploring him. You wouldn't make a sound, just stand there in silent defiance of the world. And then he would wink at you and lean in closer. Closer, closer, and closer till you could smell his coffee scented breath. Then he would pause and if you didn't pull away or push him to the side, he would know and he would kiss you either on your neck, forehead, head, or lips. You kept the glee hidden when he kissed you on the lips- your favorite kind of kiss- but your eyes would always give away your secret and he could tell you loved it when you felt his lips against yours and then he would lean in again and kiss you once more, sending waves hurdling through your body and down to your knees, rendering you unstable. When he felt you falter he would wrap his arm around your waist and pull you to him, helping you to stand because even he knew that if he didn't, you would just clumsily knock into something, completely abandoning your grace that you carried in public.

You didn't go weak because you were _so_ in love like everybody of all ages claimed to be, but only because you couldn't wrap your mind around how much he loved you and it amounted to too much to take. So you would start to fall, but he was always there to catch you.

_"Five."_

At least five times a week someone either tried to steal Beck from you or tell you how you didn't deserve him. And at least three of those five times you would become stricken with rage and jealousy. You would scream that they were filthy liars and make your trademark face. You were so sick of being told that you weren't good enough. So sick of it. At first you had bottled your anger up, but it just kept building and building until it eventually exploded and overflowed and every time someone told you that you weren't good enough, you lashed out at them. Especially when you started to believe them.

When you started to believe those nasty rumors, you began to feel suffocated from hate. It wasn't anyone's business who you were dating and if you deserved them or not. So when Beck started an argument with you, you got scared. So scared. So petrified. You thought maybe that he had heard those rumors to and maybe he was beginning to believe them just like you. Every time he said something against you, you would strike back out of fear like a frightened animal. Each fight it felt like he was going to break up with you and every time he didn't, you would hear that voice in your head that told you next time he will. Next time he will break up with you because he's heard what everyone has said. You aren't good enough. You aren't worth it.

It drove you insane and you didn't know what to do with yourself. You felt like you were at war, except it wasn't with Vega or anyone that you knew. It was within yourself. And everyday you would run yourself high and dry. You were constantly going on high adrenaline, just waiting for that moment when Beck would confront you and tell you that you were horrible. That he could get anyone that he wanted and that no one wanted you. So you went around making comments about people and fighting with cold blooded intensity because you were always in a foul mood. It wasn't completely your fault. It was everyone's who drove you to this point.

There's only so much a person can take and you've reached your limit. Especially when even the teachers- or more specifically Sikowitz- can tell that you're lucky to even have Beck, and remind you of it.

It wasn't always like this, though, you can recall, even though it's felt like forever you've been arguing with others. Only Junior year was when you officially went overboard. Sure, you were mean in the past, but never _this_ mean. And Beck can tell something's changed in you and you find yourself wondering at random points in the day if he's becoming annoyed with your behavior even if he commonly tells you that you _are_ good enough.

_"Six."_

Six times a week he has to tell you that you're good enough. Six times he has to remind you of who you are and how much he really loves you. _Six_. And it began to make you feel crazy. Insane or depressed, like you're bagging on yourself constantly and need therapy. At first, it made you feel so toasty on the inside, but then it began to get repetitive and you felt paranoid. Yes, it was always great to hear that Beck loved you, but soon you wondered if he was just saying that out of duty to his girlfriend. Just to make you feel good and get those butterflies in your stomach that you said you despised but secretly craved.

And you would either ask all the time if he was serious or you would just give him a pointed look like you knew what he was up to. It wasn't like you didn't trust him. No, you trusted him an incredible amount. You just didn't trust yourself which was- and is- the biggest mistake you've made in your whole life. It turned you into this spiteful being that you don't like all that much, but pretend you do anyway like you're putting on a play.

You wonder if he can see through your little act. You wonder if that's why he tells you that you're amazing at least six times a week. Maybe he knows you don't have confidence in yourself. Maybe it wasn't what you thought. Maybe instead of just being dutiful, he is being considerate- something you aren't as of lately. But then that nagging voice enters your head again, driving you crazy. You don't know what to think or feel anymore even when he wraps his arms around you tight and tells everything is going to be okay for no real reason. Perhaps you should just let go and see what happens, but it's come to far now, and you can't really consider letting go of all the ideas that are floating around in your head. Will he break up with you or won't he? It's a never ending game of guessing and you pray for it to end, but every time he comes over to you and tells that you _are_ worth it and that you _are_ enough- maybe even better- you can't help but think of all those people who said you _weren't_ and you can't help but believe them. And then you push back on him again even though nothing's his fault and since your stubborn, you can't apologize and tell him what you're really thinking and that you just want him to hold you and never leave and make all those real ganks- because you aren't really a true gank- go away.

Insecure, though, is something you'll never admit to being. Not in front of anybody. Even him. Even when he looks you right in the eyes and tells you that you will _always_ be worth it.

_"Seven."_

Seven. Seven fights a week. Seven. One for each day of the week. It's crazy, you've decided, how many fights you get into and the number keeps increasing daily. It started with one, and you stopped counting when you reached to seven, so now you have no idea of just how many fights you two have gotten into. Sometimes you like to blame him for these fights- and sometimes it is his fault- but you know it's really just you. It's really just your grunchy self.

Your "friends" are getting sucked into these banters- you like to refer to them as banters to tone the heaviness of the problem down- to. They don't deserve it, but you just can't stop. You're out of your mind now and you know the inevitable is coming. The thing you've always feared is gravitating towards you because the balance between you and Beck is quickly spiraling out of control as you tip the scale more and more. You go home every day and pray that you can find a rock to tip the scale back to equilibrium like it once was, but you know it's not going to happen. Instead, the scale will tip so much it will break, and then everything will end.

You desperately are trying to hold on to your relationship that you're slowly ruining. Tarnishing. You can't help but wonder if Vega or someone else would be able to hold this relationship down better than you. Those kind of thoughts stoke your furnace and you become enraged and now you're no longer taking things out on other people. You're solely taking it out on Beck like its his fault you're in so much pain. Like its his fault people love him so much. And maybe it is a little bit his fault, but it's mostly yours. You know that. You just wish you could do something about it like stop being such a grunch. But you can't with that paranoia whispering in your head.

Sometimes you want to say sorry and hope that maybe things will go back to the way they originally were. At least the fantasizing little girl in you does because he brings out the best in you when you're not dealing with so many things, but the reality and the adult within you knows that nothing will make anything better. You're slowly losing him, fight by fight. Each time you argue, you can see a piece of him chip and he's so broken down now you're almost positive he'll disappear in the next few fights. You're almost positive that you'll disappear to because, just like him, you're dying on the inside. These arguments are killing you and even though you like death and murder, you hate this. You hate this pain. This hurt. You hope it ends soon, but you know it won't, especially if he leaves you.

He's not coming after you. Where is he? You're panicking more than ever.

_"Eight."_

At least eight times a day you dream. You dream about the future that holds both you and Beck. Each daydream has a recurring theme to. You and him are not feuding. There's no general unhappiness and you feel secure. He grabs you and pulls you to him like he does and then he kisses you on the top of your head protectively. Then he invites you out to an elegant dinner. You have always liked classic guys that treat you to a polite meal. It was gentleman like and often included in all of your fantasies.

And you would accept and he would drive you out to an expensive restaurant and ask you what you would like, then order for you. You would smile at him, one of your charming smiles- not your smirks- and he would laugh, his eyes sparkling. Then he would take your hand in his and hold it. Stroke it. And an electric shock would fly through you as always whenever he touched you. Whenever you felt his leathery fingers trailing across your arms. It gave you goosebumps, though they weren't the bad, cold kind. They were the good kind that made you shiver with excitement- not coldness.

Then there would be other dreams where he and you would just talk to each other in his RV. He would tell you everything you ever wanted to hear. Ever needed to hear. He would sit so close to you that you could hear his melodic heartbeat. And he would listen to you and tell you that you had a pretty voice and when you became tired of talking, he would pat his lap and tell you to lie down. That he would be your pillow. And you would. And he would comb through your hair gently, whispering cute things that sounded nice to the ear. He would draw pictures with his words and that was when you told him that _he_- as opposed to you- had a lovely voice. Really, it was true. You could listen to it all day, even though you often ranted about people talking to long. But this was Beck and he was an exception.

Soon weariness would pull at your eyes and you would close them, enjoying the feel of Beck's rough hand running through your black hair. He would chuckle and then he would say that you were an angel and to have a sweet dreams. He would say something else to, but you would fall asleep mid sentence.

You wish these childish dreams were a reality with all your might. All you want is for Beck to love you like he used to. Used to when you weren't so frightened. So paranoid and mean. Not so ugly. No. You were no longer pretty as Beck would describe you. You were an ugly monster.

Ugly.

So you dream every chance you get. Dream back to when you weren't so ugly and when he still loved you unconditionally. And you pray. Pray for them to come true and then Beck will love you. Then he will want to stay unlike right now.

You feel your chest constrict. Why was he taking so long?

_"Nine."_

Nine times a day you think of memories. Bittersweet memories. You recall all the times you and Beck went to ice cream and you remember sourly all the times that you yelled at him. Screamed at him, like a banshee. Like a crazy girl who had lost her mind.

You recall specifically a time when you were at the playground with him. He persuaded you to come with him because he wanted to get you used to little kids for when you did some community service which involved helping them. It turned out it wasn't a popular park day and nearly no kids where there, which was good because you were probably going to scare them anyway just like you had done to the majority of the others that crossed your path.

Soon it had gotten dark and you complained and whined and ordered Beck to take you back home, but he shook his head and suggested that you jump on the swings, if only for old time's sake. Begrudgingly, you did and he went behind your swing and pushed you. You told him that you could swing on your own, but he insisted on pushing you because he liked to help you, because he loved you, and so that you would always know that he would be there to push you high above the ground. It was a corny metaphor, but you liked it nonetheless.

That had been one of the best memories. You weren't sure why you loved that above all else, but you did and you often thought about it every time you passed a park- not just the one that he had pushed your swing in. It was etched in your brain forever, just like he would be.

You silently pray that he would come out of Vega's house soon, but he doesn't.

You wonder if he's thinking about all of their memories to. You know that he's more of a sentimental guy than he lets on. You have seen all the pictures scattered around his messy RV. They seemed haphazardly strewn around the "house" but you know it's only like that so other dudes don't think he _cares_ about those kinds of thing. But he does because when he thinks no one's looking, you see him just sit on the floor and stare at those pictures.

Half of them have you in it.

Pictures, unlike for Beck, do not make you recall the best times of your life. Words do. Promises. Whenever someone promises you something, you think of everything that Beck has ever promised you. Some of them seemed so farfetched, but some of them you really think he could follow through on.

Except that, he's not opening that door. He's just standing inside. You wonder if he's back playing cards.

He's not opening that damned door.

_"Ten."_

Ten promises promised, then broken. When Beck promised you things, you believed him. But look where that has gotten you now. He promised the world to you. He said that you and him would always be together and that you would live out your days peacefully. He told you that you were good enough and that he would always help you out. He told you that he would get you the moon if you wanted it and that he would always come running whenever you called. He said that he would always listen to you and never think- not once- that your concerns were stupid. He said that you would be the only girl he ever fell in love with.

Really, those promises were the only thing that had kept you from completely going off the deep end because Beck wasn't a liar. If he promised you those things, then he intended to keep them, but here he was- or rather, here he wasn't. You were on the outside of the house and he was on the inside. For a second, you contemplate whether to say eleven, or rush into the house and beg for forgiveness. Beg for him to take you back so that you can feel so loved that you'll collapse from the weight of it, or maybe for him to just hold you so that you can feel those electric butterflies stinging your skin and stomach. Or maybe for him to kiss you so you can feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

But he's made his decision and you knew this was coming all along.

So your hand falls from the door and you stare at the handle for a moment. Then you walk away, tears springing to your eyes. All those years you were with him seemed like nothing now, but at least now you knew who you were. Knew what you were. Everyone had been right.

You weren't good enough.

You break into a run- or more of a power walk- and harshly throw the car door open, memories replaying in your head. The swings, the talking, the dinner, the holding. It came back to you, flowing into you like a river. Like lightening. And you wished that he would come bolting out that door, calling your name. Even if it was sappy you wished he would come after you and say that he was wrong and that he didn't want to leave you. But you were kidding yourself.

You swiftly got in the car, but you couldn't get your hands to move so you just sat there.

And then...everything just...stopped for a moment. The world stopped whirling and the wind stopped blowing. You sat inside your car silently, your eyes glazed over as everything was quiet. And one thing entered your head. Just one little itty bitty thing. The last promise he had made, and the most important one.

He had promised that he loved you and always would.

Then...Well, then you drove away.


End file.
